Into Ashes
by Ani-maniac494
Summary: “Come on, you can’t...you can’t leave me here, alone with Dad. We’ll kill each other, you know that.” What if Dean had died before the deal could be made? What would John and Sam do without him? IMTOD AU. Complete.
1. Ashes

Title: Into Ashes

Summary: "Come on, you can't…you can't leave me here, alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that." What if Dean had died before the deal could be made? What would John and Sam do without him? IMTOD AU.

Spoilers: Major spoilers in this chapter for In My Time Of Dying, and vague mentions of Faith and The Pilot.

Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing them, promise! I'll return them in mint condition. Well, relatively mint condition… (blinks innocently)

A/N: There is A LOT of angst. I surprised MYSELF with the amount of angst in it, lol! ;) And though this is a multi-chapter fic, it's already complete! (watches everyone fall over in shock) Yes, I know…(blushes) Updates should, Lord willing, only be a few days apart. :)

A/N2: This one is definitely PG-13. Not so much for the content itself, but the subjects it deals with are more intense than any of my other fics. It's meant to be a portrayal of just what might have happened if Dean really had died. I've read quite a few of the IMTOD AU's, and I really enjoyed a number of them, but not many of them really went beyond Dean's death, and I couldn't help thinking, what about after?

Also, please know that I don't write wincest, and I never will. This is very strictly gen.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Darth Mom, the best beta I could ever ask for in a galaxy far, far away, and in any other.

I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think. :)

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**Into Ashes**

It seemed wrong, Sam thought.

There should have been rain, clouds, _something_ which at least gave the illusion that the world was mourning along with the Winchesters. But instead, the night was beautiful and clear, a soft breeze tempering the heat of the fire, making the flames dance almost merrily.

And Sam hated it.

Fire had taken everything. Everything that mattered.

First his mom, then Jess, and now…

Even in his own mind, Sam couldn't complete the thought. It felt so surreal. He kept thinking that at any moment, he'd wake up in a motel room somewhere to find Dean looking at him from the other bed, feigning annoyance at the sleep he was being deprived of, but concern in his eyes.

He'd badger Sam into telling him about his nightmare, maybe even give-in and allow a chick-flick moment when his little brother finally caved. He'd assure Sam that he was fine, and that he wasn't going anywhere. Then, he'd tease Sam about being a girl, and make him smile and roll his eyes, and everything would be normal again.

Dean would make everything better.

He always did.

But Sam wasn't waking up, and Dean wasn't grumbling at him from across the room.

Instead, the funeral pyre just kept growing, the flames burning brighter as they consumed the one person who meant more to Sam than he could ever say, and he watched, feeling a deep cold the heat from the fire could never touch.

Sam's fist clenched unconsciously at his side, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. The still-healing cuts on his hand protested, but he barely felt anything at all as denial crashed through him.

This couldn't be real. It just couldn't be.

He should turn and walk away, should find out whose brother had just died and tell them how sorry he was, because there was no way that it was _Dean_, no way that it was _his_ big brother who was gone. It just wasn't _possible_.

Dean listened to mullet-rock and made bad jokes. Dean flirted with girls and hustled pool. Dean saved people and hunted things. Dean protected him and made him whole.

Dean didn't _die._

But, a voice in the back of his mind, a voice he couldn't deny, whispered that no one was invincible, that everything made of flesh and blood had an end, that no one could cheat death forever, even his big brother.

A choked sob broke the silence, and Sam wondered vaguely if it had come from him. But, when he turned, it was his father who was crying…broken, heart-wrenching sobs that shook his whole frame. Gone was the unfeeling, unaffected mask of a soldier, and in its place was the crumbling visage of a man whose world had just been shattered.

Sam felt resentment rise up in him suddenly, bubbling just below the surface, his disbelief rapidly giving way to anger.

What right did John Winchester have to grieve for Dean like that?

He hadn't cared when Dean was alive…hadn't seen him as anything other than an attack-dog, a weapon he could forge and use in his quest for revenge. When Dean had been dying all those months ago from a damaged heart…he hadn't even cared enough to pick up a _phone._

And in the hospital, after the semi had hit them…even then, all he'd thought about was the demon. He hadn't done anything for Dean. He hadn't called a soul for help. He hadn't even _tried_.

What right did he have to act like Dean's death affected him just as deeply as it did Sam? To act like he would be just as lost without him there?

"Dean…" his dad whispered hoarsely, his voice nearly inaudible but strangely loud to Sam's ears.

Hearing his father say Dean's name, so full of pain and loss and _love_ -- Sam almost let all that resentment come spilling out in a tidal wave of raw emotion. But then something deep inside him urged, "_Come on…don't do this!"_ Sam wasn't sure when his brother had spoken those words, but he guessed they could have been from any one of the countless fights Dean had tried to break up.

Dean always hated it when they fought.

And that's when he knew…they couldn't do this, not _here, _not_ now_.

Dean deserved better.

So, Sam stuffed his anger and bitterness as far down as they would go, forcing them into the depths of his soul. He could still feel them there, under the surface, and knew it was only a matter of time before his control slipped, but he wouldn't let that happen yet. Not tonight.

For Dean.

They stood that way until the pyre had faded into a pile of cooling embers and ash. Sam wasn't sure how many hours had passed, but the sky was growing lighter with the approaching dawn, the first rays of the sun creeping over the horizon.

Sam felt his father's calloused hand come to rest on his shoulder, and stiffened under the touch. His dad didn't seem to notice though, his tear-filled eyes still lingering on the remains of the pyre.

Sam followed his gaze, watching as a soft breeze caught a few of the ashes. He looked for any signs that those ashes had once been his brother, but there was nothing. He watched them disappear into the shadows, not sure what he was supposed to feel…where to start.

His mind kept spinning in an endless cycle of disbelief, anger, and numbness. Grief was there too, somewhere, terrible and all-consuming, but he felt detached from it, like it belonged to someone else. It had to, because if he let those walls crumble, let that pain wash over him, he didn't think it would ever stop.

He'd felt that way after Jess…thought he'd never stop hurting, thought the agony would never dull no matter how much time had passed. And in a way, it hadn't, not completely. He still missed her, sometimes with an intensity that knocked the wind out of him, but…somehow…he'd moved forward with his life. Those wounds had healed, slowly, but healed just the same, leaving only gnarled scars behind.

Dean had done that.

Dean had held him together, given him space when he needed it, pushed him to talk when he'd had to, and just been _there_.

He'd done what he'd been doing his whole life, letting Sam lean on him, letting him borrow his strength, making him believe that everything would be okay in the end. And Sam _had_ believed that. The part of him that would always be Sammy, the part of him who'd never stopped thinking that his big brother could do anything, could make everything alright, had believed that.

But Dean wasn't there anymore.

He never would be.

And Sam knew nothing would ever be okay again.

**TBC**

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A/N: As I said, this fic is already complete and the next part should, Lord willing, be up in a couple days. I hope you are enjoying it, and of course, please review and let me know what you thought!

Thanks for reading! Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)


	2. In Remembrance

Title: Into Ashes

Summary: "Come on, you can't…you can't leave me here, alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that." What if Dean had died before the deal could be made? What would John and Sam do without him? IMTOD AU.

Spoilers: Some mentions of Devil's Trap, but no other new spoilers in this chapter. :)

Disclaimer: That's not Dean…no, that's um…my cousin. He just looks like Dean. Wait…what do you mean he said he's been kidnapped? (puts hand over Dean-look-alike's mouth) My cousin…always the comedian! (shifty eyes)

A/N: I like John, and my writing probably reflects that. :) He's made A LOT of mistakes, but I think he genuinely loves his boys. Though he and Sam never do anything the easy way, lol. Things will get much worse before…or if, lol…they get better.

A/N2: I was going to wait and post this tomorrow…but your reviews are so wonderful, I couldn't resist! Thank you to everyone who's reading, and especially everyone who's reviewed!

And, thanks again to my wonderful beta, Darth Mom. She was kind enough to look at this early so I could post it.

I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think. :)

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**Into Ashes**

_It was the wailing of the monitor he heard first, the horrible sound that announced Dean's heart had stopped beating. It cut deeply through Sam's soul, tearing him up inside, making his vision swim and his legs nearly buckle._

"_No," he breathed, his plea filled with all the pain, fear, and desperation he felt as he watched the doctors working frantically to revive his brother. He was paralyzed, his body frozen in place. He clung to the frame of the doorway, needing something to hold on to, something to keep him from simply falling to his knees._

"_All clear," he heard the doctor order._

"_Clear!" one of the nurses confirmed._

_Sam watched as Dean's body arced, and his eyes flew to the monitor, trying to will the line marking Dean's heartbeat into motion._

_Nothing._

_The doctor's brow furrowed._

"_Okay, let's go again. Three-sixty."_

"_Charging."_

"_All clear?"_

"_Clear," two of the nurses echoed._

_Sam clutched the frame of the door tighter as Dean's unresponsive body arched once again._

"_Come on, come on," the doctor urged quietly, his gaze focused intently on the monitor._

_The nurse shook her head._

"_Still no pulse."_

_Pain shot through Sam's chest. He felt hot tears sting his eyes but he blinked them away furiously, not wanting anything to block his view of his brother._

_The doctor nodded to the nurse who had spoken, and Sam heard the whine of the machine as it charged for the third time._

"_All clear?"_

"_Clear."_

_It would work this time, Sam thought. It had to. Dean wouldn't leave._

"_Still nothing. No pulse."_

_The breath Sam had been holding rushed from his lungs, leaving him dizzy. He watched as one of the nurses reached for Dean's IV, carrying out orders that had been exchanged too quickly for Sam's reeling mind to follow._

"_Okay, again," the doctor instructed. "All clear?"_

"_Clear."_

_Dean's limp body arced with the current once more, lax muscles tensing._

Please, _Sam silently begged, _please let this work.

"_No change. Starting CPR."_

_The doctor clasped both hands on Dean's chest and began pumping, pausing for a few counts while air was forced into Dean's lungs._

_And the cycle began again._

_Sam didn't know how long they kept going…how many times they tried…it was all a blur._

_But he remembered the way the doctor and nurses had slowly pulled back, the grim nods and solemn gazes they'd exchanged._

_He remembered the way his heart had shattered with the doctor's next words._

"_I'll call it," the doctor said quietly. "Time of death-"_

"_No," Sam begged inaudibly._

"_-3:52 pm."_

Sam snapped awake, his heart pounding, blood rushing loudly, drowning out the flat-line of the monitor that still seemed to resonate in his ears. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the stacks of dust covered books and cluttered shelves, before automatically searching for the bed next to his, the one where Dean would be.

But Dean wasn't there.

Reality came crashing back down around him, and he shut his eyes tightly against the images from his dream -- from his _memory _-- trying to will them away.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

He'd known what sleep would bring…he'd done everything he could to avoid it. In a way, he'd hoped that if he pushed his body far enough and hard enough that he'd be too tired to think…to _dream_. But after three days, exhaustion had finally won out.

And sleep had only brought a nightmare…the one nightmare he could never wake-up from.

Sitting up, he drew a shaky breath, and rubbed his palm over his face. He slumped forward, his head resting in his hands, his fingers catching in his hair. In some distant corner of his mind, he knew that the bruises and cuts from the wreck should be protesting the rough handling, but he didn't feel it.

Three days.

It had been three days since Dean had died.

Sam felt like he had died, too.

Life had just _stopped_. He couldn't bring himself to move. It felt like there was no point, no reason to do anything except breathe…exist. Time passed in a haze, night and day blurring together.

He hadn't moved from the room Bobby had given him when the older hunter had first offered to let them stay. The world outside might as well have ended, and if it had, Sam couldn't find it in himself to care.

Bobby kept bringing him food, half-heartedly threatening to force-feed him if he didn't eat something. He never pushed too much though, just watched him with wary, sad eyes, like he expected him to fall apart any minute.

A harsh, broken laugh escaped from his throat.

It was a little late for that.

He hadn't seen his dad…didn't even know for sure that he was still there.

Sam almost hoped that he wasn't.

He could still feel his anger boiling beneath the surface, and it was only a matter of time until it would explode. When it did, he knew that he'd say things…things that could never be taken back, things far worse than what he'd said that night he'd announced his acceptance to Stanford.

And this time, Dean wouldn't be there to hold him back…to hold either of them back.

Unbidden, the demon's words to Dean echoed in his mind:

"_You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is…they don't need you, not like you need them."_

But the demon had been wrong.

They needed Dean. More than they could ever say. He was the one who had held them together, who'd kept them going, who'd let them lean on him.

Without him there…they would never be a family. They never could be.

Not without Dean.

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John sat on the hood of a rusted-out Ford, the cord holding Dean's amulet wrapped around the fingers of one hand, a bottle of whiskey in the other.

His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, his vision blurred with tears as he stared at the twisted remains of the Impala. It was hardly recognizable anymore; its once-flawless surface now warped and broken, its frame now a distorted mass of metal.

But it was all he had left of his son.

John took a long pull from the bottle he held, feeling the burn of the liquid as it traveled down his throat and settled in his stomach. He waited for the familiar warmth that usually followed, but it never came.

Instead, he just felt cold and empty, a black-hole of grief threatening to swallow him.

In a way, it reminded him of how he'd felt after Mary…how he'd tried so hard to drink away the agony. Alcohol had been a refuge then, the oblivion preferable to the stabbing ache of loss that came with sobriety. But at least he'd had that much. For a couple hours, he'd been able to fill that emptiness with something else. It had been a poor substitute, and in many ways, it had only made the ache more hollow, but it had been a price he'd been willing to pay for just a brief respite from the pain.

But, now…this time, it didn't seem to matter how much he drank. The memories wouldn't fade, the ache wouldn't dull. It was as sharp and as painful as it ever had been, a grief that cut more deeply than anything else ever had.

Part of him wondered why he wasn't going crazy…simply going out of his mind with grief. He had come so close to that after Mary, felt himself teetering on the edge of sanity. Shouldn't this loss be enough to send him tumbling into that abyss completely?

But another voice told him that maybe losing his mind would be a reprieve he didn't deserve. No, what he _deserved_ was to feel every second of it.

He'd been so close. He'd had what he needed to summon the demon. He'd had the Colt. He'd been ready to bargain with his own soul if he'd needed to. But he'd been too late.

And now his son was dead, murdered by the same thing that had taken his wife so many years before. Only this time, he had no one to blame but himself.

Hoisting the bottle unsteadily, John took another drink, ignoring the suddenly bitter taste. His stomach roiled, and he swallowed, trying force back the nausea.

Unconsciously, his eyes settled on the twisted wreckage of the Impala once again. The car had been there through it all: the fire, the hunt, the bad times and the good ones…and now it was gone.

Like Dean.

In a strange way, that seemed right…it was hard to imagine the Impala without him. It had been his son's most treasured possession since he'd given him the car for his sixteenth birthday.

John drew a shaky breath, the memory of that day playing in the theater of his mind.

"_Hey, Dean?"_

"_Yeah, Dad?"_

"_Happy Birthday."_

_He tossed the keys to his son, and Dean caught them easily, one-handed, reflexes kicking in before understanding dawned._

_It didn't take long though._

_Dean's eyes grew wide and he looked at the Impala, then to his dad and back again._

"_You serious?" he asked at last, disbelieving._

_John nodded._

"_She's yours. Just take care of her, you hear me? I don't want to see her rust."_

_Dean nodded quickly in return. "Yes, sir," he promised earnestly. _

_There was a beat of silence before his gaze drifted back to the Impala and a brilliant smile spread slowly across his face. "Seriously?" Dean asked again, as though still not quite ready to accept what he was hearing._

"_Yeah," John answered, feeling a smile tugging on his own lips. "Seriously."_

_If it were possible, Dean's smile got even bigger. _

"_Dude, I've gotta tell Sammy!" _

_Dean turned and rushed off towards the cabin, and John chuckled softly. It felt good to see Dean so happy…to see him acting like the teenager he was supposed to be, instead of the man he was rapidly becoming. The man who, if John were honest with himself, he already was._

Raising the bottle once more, John drained the last of the whiskey and felt his eyes sting, burning in a way that had nothing to do with his drink.

He wished he had a hundred memories like that one, a hundred times he could look back on and say he'd made his son smile like that.

But he didn't.

John closed his eyes against the stab of grief and guilt that pieced his heart, and for a brief moment, he saw the life his son should have had, _deserved_ to have. A place to call home, not a rundown motel or a backwoods cabin, but an actual _home_, a loving wife, and beautiful children -- Dean's children could never have been anything but beautiful -- a daughter to cherish, and a son to follow in his footsteps.

For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine being the doting grandfather, Sam the indulgent uncle. He imagined home-baked cookies and barbeques, picnics and family vacations, and all the things they'd lost that horrible November night.

He imagined all the things his son could have been…should have had the chance to be.

A strangled sound he couldn't name forced its way past his throat, regret and pain and loss flooding him, nearly crushing him beneath their weight. There were tears streaming down his cheeks now but he was barely aware of them. Distantly, he felt the bottle slip from his fingers, heard it shatter as it landed on the gravel below.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

**TBC**

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A/N: The next part may take a little longer to post. As I said, it's all complete, but my wonderful beta Darth Mom had eye surgery about a week ago and she can't look at a computer screen for very long. She was kind enough to beta the first two chapters in advance, but she wasn't able to get to the third one yet. And yes, I know, lol, Sam and John didn't actually interact in this chapter…but they will in the next! (grin)

Thanks for reading! Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)


	3. Explosion

Title: Into Ashes

Summary: "Come on, you can't…you can't leave me here, alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that." What if Dean had died before the deal could be made? What would John and Sam do without him? IMTOD AU.

Spoilers: More mentions of Devil's Trap in this chapter, and vague references to Salvation and Dead Man's Blood.

Disclaimer: Dean…I mean, Supernatural, is still not mine. ;)

A/N: If you'd like to see a video for Into Ashes, you can see one on my website here: http:// www. freewebs. com/ laughtersmelody/ supernatural. htm Just take out the spaces and scroll to the bottom of the page. :) The video quality isn't the best (it's the first time I've used Windows Movie maker and my website was arguing, lol) but I hope you enjoy it!

A/N2: THANK YOU to my beta, Darth Mom! She was incredibly kind and after some trial and error and figured out how she could look at the computer screen without problems. I could not have posted this without her.

I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think. :)

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**Into Ashes**

The light from the afternoon sun filtered into the room, its rays highlighting the dust that filled the air. Sam watched absently, gaze flickering to the window then back again. A moment later, he let his eyes drift to the large stack of books in the corner. He'd always looked forward to going to Bobby's as a kid. Bobby had the biggest supernatural library Sam had ever seen and he'd loved to pour over the countless pages and ancient texts.

For a brief moment, Sam thought about getting up, thought about picking his way through the shelves to see what was there, but the thought passed as quickly as it had come. There wouldn't be any point, anyway. Dean was gone, and nothing Sam could do would bring him back.

The hollow space where his big brother should have been throbbed sharply, and Sam closed his eyes.

Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but time was only making this worse. The four days since Dean had died made him feel like he'd been gutted. He couldn't imagine what years would be like…let alone a lifetime.

He missed his brother.

He missed his voice, his laugh, his smirk. He missed the pointless conversations and inside jokes, the stupid arguments and easy friendship, and a thousand other things he couldn't put into words.

And now, Dean wasn't just a call away like he had been at Stanford. Sam couldn't tell himself that Dean was on a hunt somewhere, or playing pool, or on the way to his next job.

Sam was alone.

Dread settled in his stomach, running through his veins like ice. Suddenly, the room was empty and forbidding, feeling more like a prison than a sanctuary. Before he even realized it, he was moving, his legs carrying him out the door, through Bobby's house and out into the yard.

He didn't know where he was headed until he saw the light glinting off the now-dulled surface of the Impala. His gaze drifted to the crushed passenger side, the shape of the semi's front end clearly visible in the warped metal, and he felt himself flinch, memories of that night playing in his thoughts once again. His legs seemed to have a mind of their own, though, and he stepped closer, swallowing convulsively.

His foot hit something, and he paused.

It was a bottle. A beer bottle.

He blinked, automatically following the trail…one bottle, then another, and another…until he found himself face to face with his father.

Sam froze.

His father's frame was bent, shoulders slumped and head bowed, red, swollen eyes staring blankly at the Impala. Always a hunter, he sensed Sam's presence and turned.

"Sammy?" he asked, his voice rough.

Sam wasn't sure what happened next…couldn't even begin to describe it. But suddenly, all the anger and bitterness he'd held back for the last four days came rushing to the surface, making his heart hammer in his chest and his vision turn red.

He reached down for the bottle at his feet and threw it as hard as he could, watching with satisfaction as it hit the side of an old truck and shattered in an explosion of glass.

The sound was enough to break through the haze of rage surrounding him for a moment and Sam glanced at his father. He saw his shock and confusion and turned to leave, moving as fast as he could, the need to _get away_ now resounding loudly in his mind.

He couldn't do this. They couldn't do this. If they did, it would be over. This would be it, _the fight_, the one that would leave wounds so deep they'd never heal, never be forgiven.

"Sam!"

He heard his father's shout, but didn't look back.

"What was that?!"

Sam recognized the worry in the question, but he'd also recognized the _order_ underneath, and red tinged his vision once more. He kept walking.

"Sam! Answer me!"

His rage simmered closer to the surface.

"Where are you going?!"

Sam paused, fists clenched at his side.

"A motel," he bit out finally.

"What?!" his father demanded. "Why?!"

"Because I can't stay here any more."

"Why not?"

"I just can't."

It was all the answer he could give, but of course it wasn't good enough for his father. Nothing ever was.

"You'd better think of a better explanation than that real fast!"

"Or what, Dad?" he sneered. "You'll court-martial me?"

He felt his temper unraveling, his control slipping, and _get away_ drummed in his consciousness once again. He turned once more, but a grip on his shoulder stopped him. Sam wrenched out of father's grasp, using his forearm to break the hold.

His dad looked startled again for a second, but anger quickly replaced his surprise.

"Sam!" he barked.

Sam hated it when is father did that, used his name like it was his _rank_, like he was Sam the lowly soldier, not Sam his _son_.

And that was all it took.

All thoughts of holding back vanished in an instant, and that red haze clouded his vision until it was hard to see anything else.

"I don't have to tell _**you**_ anything!" he spat.

"Fine, Sam," his dad snarled back. "Walk away. Abandon everything! Abandon your family! That's what you're good at, isn't it?"

"Oh, that's _**rich**_, Dad, coming from you! I'm not the only one who walked out, or did you forget?"

"That was different!"

"How?! Because you did it for your great crusade?!"

"Because I had to protect you! Keep you safe!"

"_Safe_?" Sam demanded incredulously. "You mean like you kept _us_ safe? Like you kept _Dean_ safe?"

John stilled, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

He saw his father's jaw clench, hard eyes flashing at the familiar words and the challenge they implied. Sam knew what he was doing, knew that neither of them would back down now.

And this time, Dean wasn't there to step in between them.

"Don't," his father warned, voice low.

"Don't what? Tell the truth?!" Even through the red haze, Sam caught the flicker of hurt in his father's eyes buried under layers of anger. Somehow, that only made Sam's own anger burn hotter. "This is _**your **_fault! If you'd just let mom go, stopped thinking of yourself and thought about what _she _would have wanted, Dean would still be here!"

"And if you had just done what I ordered you to do-"

Sam gave a strangled, bitter laugh.

"I wish I had, you know that? I really wish I had." That flicker of hurt returned, staying longer this time, and a not-so-small part of Sam was glad to see it. A darker part of him wanted to see it again. "But I didn't. Guess we've both made mistakes, huh?"

Mockery practically dripped off the question, and Sam saw his father's fist clench at his side. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized what that meant, knew where this would end, and he spun away, trying to put some distance between them.

"Don't you turn your back on me!" his father roared.

The words made Sam freeze, and he faced his father again, a sneer twisting his features.

"Why not? You did it enough times!"

"What is that supposed to mean?!"

"You turned your back on _us_, on _**Dean**_! He needed you! But all that mattered to you was revenge! You let him die!"

Dean had always been a weapon both knew how to wield expertly in their arguments, but this was different. This time, the pain was too new, too raw…

But Sam couldn't stop.

"All his life, he did what _**you**_ wanted, what you _**ordered**_ him to do! He stopped being your _**son**_ a long time ago, Dad! Do you even care that he's dead?! Or are you just sorry you lost one of your soldiers?!"

The blow, when it came, surprised them both. John Winchester was a lot of things, but he had never, _never_, hit one of his sons before. The blow had been hard enough that Sam had lost his footing and lay sprawled on the ground. He could already feel the bruise forming.

Sam pushed himself to his feet, hand coming reflexively to his now-throbbing jaw. He tasted copper in his mouth, and spit, not surprised to see the red tinge of blood in the saliva. His father hadn't pulled that punch.

John, for his part, stood frozen, looking at his fist as though it belonged to someone else.

"Sammy…" he tried at last, the name a plea…an apology.

"Don't you dare call me that," Sam said lowly. "Don't you _**dare**_."

He spun away from his father then, the only sound that of the gravel beneath his feet echoing in the silent yard.

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John stared at Sam's retreating back numbly, the ache in his chest growing with every step his youngest son took.

He walked unsteadily back to the hood of the run-down car he'd claimed. His legs gave out, and he sat down hard, running a shaking hand over his face. Four days worth of stubble met his trembling fingers.

He'd hit his son.

As a hunter, he'd done things…crossed so many lines…but never _this_. He'd never hurt one of his boys.

_Not true_, a voice in his head mocked, a voice that sounded like a warped version of his own, echoing the demon's taunting. _You hurt Dean._

He wanted to deny it…wanted to scream that it hadn't been _him_, it was the demon who had tortured his oldest son, but that didn't matter, not really. It had been his body, his words -- twisted, but still _his_ -- that had hurt Dean.

"_Dad…Dad, don't you let it kill me!"_

He'd never heard his son sound like that before, so desperate, so terrified…terrified, not for himself, but for his family.

"_Dad, please…"_

But he had heard the faith there too, the simple faith his son had always had in him, a faith John knew he'd never been worthy of.

He'd fought, fought with everything he had…but it hadn't been enough.

"Dean…" His son's name slipped past his lips, voice breaking.

"_Don't get yourself killed, alright? You're no good to us dead."_

"_Same goes for you."_

Those had been his last words to his oldest son, the last thing he'd said to Dean before the demon had possessed him. There was so much he could have said…so much he _should_ have said, but he hadn't.

"_I'm proud of you…you know, Sam and I…we can get pretty obsessed. But you, you…you watch out for this family. You always have."_

The demon had ripped that from his heart, said out loud what he had never been able to, and Dean hadn't believed it. But John had seen in his eyes that he _had_ believed something else:

"_You know, you fight and fight for this family, but the truth is…they don't need you. Not like you need them."_

Had his son died thinking that? That his family didn't need him? That he was worthless?

Tears burned in his throat.

When he thought of his son, he remembered a little boy with wide, trusting eyes and an easy smile, a little boy who laughed and played and wasn't afraid to dream.

But now, he remembered when that had all changed, when those trusting eyes had grown old and world-weary, when a real smile had become something rare, and his dreams had been forgotten.

Pain pierced John's heart and he closed his eyes tightly.

Sam was right. It was his fault. All of it.

_Sammy…_

"A week," he whispered, wishing Dean could hear him. "Sammy and I didn't even last a week without you."

The demon was still out there, still ready to destroy his youngest son, and now John couldn't protect him. Sam was leaving…and this time, he wouldn't be coming back.

John had lost one son, and now he'd just lost the other -- both by his own hand.

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Sam stormed into his room, snatching his duffle from the floor where it sat near the wall. He gathered his few possessions -- even fewer since the crash -- stuffing them into the bag. He grabbed a couple knives, his handgun, and a flask of holy water, shoving them in roughly.

When he was sure he had everything, he slung the duffle over his shoulder, and headed for the door. He'd ask Bobby if he could use one of his old cars. If not, then he'd walk.

He didn't know where he was going…he didn't have any place to be, no people to help, no leads to follow.

But that didn't matter, as long as it wasn't _here_.

He strode past the maze of books littering the room, not really caring when his bag hit one of the stacks, sending a few of the books to the floor. One fell at his feet, the cover falling open.

Sam moved to step over it, but…something caught his eye. He bent down to pick the book up, then straightened slowly, smoothing the pages unconsciously. It was a picture of a crossroads…

**TBC**

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A/N: Yes, I know it's a cliff-hanger…but I couldn't resist! (ducks the rotten fruit being thrown at her) ;) The next chapter should be up in a couple days.

Thanks for reading! Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)


	4. Dealing

Title: Into Ashes

Summary: "Come on, you can't…you can't leave me here, alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that." What if Dean had died before the deal could be made? What would John and Sam do without him? IMTOD AU.

Spoilers: In this chapter there are mentions of Crossroad Blues, Devil's Trap, In My Time Of Dying, and a brief reference to Everybody Love A Clown.

Disclaimer: With the writers still on strike, maybe no one will notice if Dean is missing… Oh, oops, did I say that out loud? I meant…I haven't seen him.

A/N: Goodness, I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to post this next chapter! I was very wrapped up in Christmas and New Years, and since then I just haven't had a chance to post. But, here is the next chapter. :) I debated for a while about how to break it up, and I thought about cutting it in half, but the first half very much leads to the second, and I didn't think it would work as well in two parts. So, this is a pretty long chapter, lol.

A/N2: (There is a spoiler for "A Very Supernatural Christmas" in this author's note, so if you haven't seen the episode yet, don't read any further, lol.) I wrote this before "A Very Supernatural Christmas" aired and was working with the assumption that Sam knew about John being a hunter the whole time he was growing up. Since this is already AU I'm not going to change it, but if you want to, lol, just pretend that when little Sam calls John a hunter, he means a regular hunter, not a supernatural one. ;)

THANK YOU everyone for being so patient, and I hope you enjoy it!

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**Into Ashes**

_I feel like a soccer-mom._

Sam had no doubt that's what Dean would say if he saw the old, beaten-up van Bobby had given him. The thought brought a faint smile to his lips, but the sharp stab of grief that followed made the expression fade.

The van wasn't much to look at, not even comparable to the Impala, but it ran, and Bobby had promised that the gas tank was full. It was more than enough to get him where he wanted to be.

It had taken him a while to find a crossroads that would work. Bobby's place was out in the country, but most of the roads were paved, and he needed a dirt road so he could bury the box that now sat in the passenger seat. Inside were his picture and the other objects necessary to summon the demon.

The road he'd found was on the outskirts of the county, and it would take him about an hour to get there from the motel he'd checked into. He'd made sure he'd gotten a room with two beds. Dean would need a place to sleep when he was back.

_When Dean was back…_that thought made Sam's smile return. For the first time since Dean had died, he felt hope.

He knew what this was going to cost, knew what the demon would demand in exchange, but that didn't matter.

Nothing did, as long as Dean was alive.

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"_Daddy?"_

_The soft question drew his attention from the article he'd been reading, and John turned to see his six-year-old son standing uncertainly in the doorway, his hair mussed from sleep, his pajamas wrinkled. _

"_Sammy?" John frowned. "What're you doin' up?"_

_The little boy looked down, shuffling his feet on the shaggy, motel carpet. _

"_I had a bad dream. Can I stay with you, Daddy?"_

_The hunter in John wanted to say no. He knew his son was going to have to face _real_ nightmares someday, and if he couldn't deal with the monsters in his dreams, he'd never be able to deal with them in the waking-world. But the father in him couldn't do it._

"_Sure, Sammy."_

_He gathered his research and set it on the nightstand, folded the newspaper and closed his books, then patted the mattress next to him. His youngest crawled up onto the bed, and snuggled into his side. John let his arm wrap around his son, pulling him close, his hand coming to rest in Sam's still-baby-soft curls._

_It had been a while since Sam had asked to stay with him. Normally, Dean was the one Sammy went to, but Dean had been fighting a bad cold for the last week, and John was glad that Sammy hadn't woken him up. Dean needed the rest. If he didn't start feeling better in the next couple days, he'd have to take him to the clinic downtown._

"_Daddy?" _

_This time the question was muffled by the flannel of John's shirt._

"_Yeah, Sammy?"_

"_You're not gonna leave, are you?"_

_That made John frown again._

"'_Course not. Why would you ask that?"_

"_My dream," Sam whispered._

"_What were you dreamin' about?"_

"_You were hurt real bad. And you left Dean and me…like Mommy."_

_His words sent a chill down John's spine. He wasn't afraid to die, even longed for it in a way, longed to be with Mary…but his boys needed him. He couldn't leave them unprotected._

_Sam looked up into John's face, eyes wide and innocent. _

"_But that can't happen, right? 'Cause you're the bestest hunter _ever_."_

_John tried to swallow back the sudden lump in his throat._

"_Right, kiddo," he agreed, voice rough._

_Sammy looked away, his small hand clutching the fabric of John's shirt._

"_I was scared," he admitted, the words hesitant, like he was afraid he was letting his dad down._

_John swallowed again, feeling his eyes sting._

"_It's okay to be scared sometimes."_

_Sam shook his head, not meeting John's gaze._

"_But_ nothing _scares you."_

_Immediately, the thought came tearing through his consciousness, fear seizing his heart: _

I'm scared I'll lose you and Dean.

_It was the worst thing he could imagine, the idea that he'd lose his sons, that they could be ripped away from him like Mary had been._

_Knowing he'd never be able to say that out loud, he just pulled Sam closer, eyes automatically searching the dark corners of the room for any danger that might be lurking there._

_He wouldn't loose his boys. He couldn't. _

Seventeen years later, it was that same thought which now echoed repeatedly in John's mind, and that same frigid terror running through his veins had driven him from Bobby's and the Impala to follow his youngest son.

Half of that nightmare had already come true…and John knew that he was close to seeing the other half become reality. The demon wanted Sam, and if it got him, everything that made Sam, _Sam_, would be gone.

But he wouldn't let that happen. He'd do whatever it took to keep his son safe…even if that meant trailing him wherever he went.

Sam hadn't noticed him yet, and for that he was grateful.

It wasn't the first time he'd tracked one of his boys. He'd done it when Sam was at Stanford, and a few times in the year he'd taken off to hunt the demon, checking-up on his sons without them knowing it. Those trips had always left him with mixed emotions, relief that they were alright, but guilt was never far behind. He'd told himself, like he always had, that he was doing what was best, that he didn't have a choice -- but those words had become more and more hollow as the months passed.

He felt that way now, watching from the shadows as Sam pulled out of the motel parking lot, but he stayed where he was. He knew he'd trained his boys well, knew how Sam would react if he saw him. John wasn't the only one who could disappear when he wanted to.

And if that happened, then he wouldn't be able to protect Sam at all.

He waited until the van was out of sight, then walked across the parking lot to Sam's room. He made quick work of the lock and slipped inside.

His gaze settled first on the two beds -- Sam must have gotten them out of habit. A fresh wave of grief washed over him, and John closed his eyes against it. The pain didn't dull, but he forced his eyes open and continued his search anyway. He wasn't really sure what he was looking for, he just needed something to prove that Sam was okay, that he wasn't in danger.

The room was cluttered, books and pieces of paper scattered over the bed and floor. A notepad, covered in Sam's scrawling handwriting, sat on the nightstand.

His eyes settled on an open book near the end of the bed…

A second later he was out the door and heading for his own car, desperately praying that he wasn't too late.

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John knew exactly where Sam was going. He'd visited Bobby many times over the years and knew the area well enough that he didn't have to look at a map to find the nearest crossroads.

The streets became a blur as he drove, pushing the battered car Bobby had given him to its limit. His heart hammered loudly in his hears, nearly drowning out the sound of the engine.

He loved Dean, wanted him back so badly, wanted, more than anything, to have a chance to make things right…but he wouldn't sacrifice one son to save the other.

Rocks pinged against the side of the car as pavement turned to gravel, and John spun the wheel, sending the vehicle into a wild turn. His gaze swept the darkness, frantically searching.

There…Sam's van sat on the side of the road, nearly hidden in a tall patch of weeds.

John slammed on the brakes, sending a cloud of dust into the air, and flung the door open before the car had even stopped moving.

His eyes flew to the center of the crossroads, where Sam was bent, a box in his hands…

John ran, feet pounding the dirt, terror flooding him.

"SAM! NO!"

He reached Sam's side and knocked the box from his grasp, scattering its contents over the road. Sam's fist came from no where, and John staggered back, stars obscuring his vision.

"Leave!" Sam roared.

"Sam-"

"Leave! Now!"

Sam's eyes were wild, rage etched into every line of his face.

"No." John's voice was strangely soft, but it held an undercurrent of steel. For once, he didn't want to scream back, knowing that wouldn't do anything but push Sam farther away. And he couldn't afford that, not now.

"I said **leave**!"

Sam was breathing hard, fists clenching at his sides. John didn't doubt that Sam would take another swing…and he wasn't sure that he'd try to stop him.

"Sammy-"

"Don't call me that!"

It took everything in him not to recoil. Sam had been objecting to that nickname since his thirteenth birthday, but never like this.

"Sam," he tried, "I know-"

Suddenly Sam was inches away from him.

"You don't know anything! You didn't care! You didn't _**do**_ anything_-"_

"**I tried**!" The yell was torn from his throat before he could stop it, and Sam drew back a little, eyes narrowing. John took a deep breath, and looked away, trying to get a hold of his own emotions.

"I was gonna make a deal with the thing," he said hoarsely, "I was gonna give it the Colt. But Dean-"

"That's what the summoning ritual was for." Sam's voice was flat. It wasn't a question.

John nodded, swallowing hard.

"Well, too little, too late."

Sam turned away then, reaching down to gather the scattered contents of the box.

"Sam-" He grabbed his son's arm, but Sam wrenched it away furiously.

"Get away from me!" he snarled.

His son bent to snatch his picture from the dirt, and John felt desperation rise within him.

"Don't do this."

Sam ignored him.

"Sam!"

He knew couldn't stop his son, not really. Even if he stopped him here, Sam would just find another crossroads, make another deal…

"Dean wouldn't want this!"

Sam was back in his face in a second.

"_**You**_, of all people, have _**no**_ right to tell me what Dean would want!"

This time John _did_ recoil. That hurt in a way he couldn't describe, because it was true. But this wasn't about Dean, this was about Sam.

"It's gonna demand your soul, Sam!"

"I don't care!"

"I do!"

Sam flinched at his words, but before John could wonder why, Sam's lips twisted into a sneer.

"Right," he scoffed derisively.

John stiffened, shock running through him.

"Of course I care! I'm your father!"

"Only when you want to be! How many times did you leave us?! Huh?! How many times did you just drop us in a motel room somewhere, so you could hunt, or drink yourself into a stupor?! Dean raised me, _**Dad**_, not you! And he was a better father than you'll ever be!"

"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?!"

The anguished cry burst out of him, echoing down the empty stretch of road, leaving stunned silence in its wake. John felt tears sting his eyes, shame and failure pouring from his soul.

"I know that, Sammy," he said again, his voice rough, barely audible, "I _know_."

Sam didn't move for a long time, just watched him, a dozen emotions flitting over his face.

"What?" The question was still bitter, but softer, uncertain.

John looked away once more, desperately wishing that he didn't have to explain. It was a burden he felt every time he looked at his boys, the horrible knowledge that in many ways he'd left his oldest son to take care of his youngest -- to raise them both.

_It's okay, Dad_, Dean's voice echoed in his memory, and John swallowed hard.

No. It wasn't okay. It never would be.

But Sam deserved an answer.

"Dean was there for you when I shoulda been," John forced the words past his throat, feeling his eyes burn, "I put too much on his shoulders. I made him grow up too fast…made both of you grow up too fast, Sammy."

He wanted to say that he was sorry, but even the idea seemed hollow now, useless. An apology could never be enough, could never make up for it all.

"I wish…I wish so bad that I could change it, but I can't. Your mother…she would hate what I've done to you boys…" The image of his wife's accusing eyes appeared in his mind, and the thought of her disappointment sent tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn't turn away, though, forced himself to look his youngest in the eyes.

"I wanted to protect you…keep you safe, and couldn't even do that. I wound up putting you in more danger, and Dean-" He choked on his tears, a muffled sob cutting off what he'd been about to say. He drew a shaky breath, trying to regain control. "I…I thought I could end it, Sammy. I thought I could save you."

John finally let his gaze drop, knowing where this would lead, what Sam would ask next.

"What are you talking about?" Sam questioned slowly, as John had known he would. Confusion tinged his words this time, dulling the anger.

John didn't answer.

"Dad?" Sam asked again, more forcefully.

John still couldn't make himself speak so he just looked back at Sam and waited, knowing his son was smart enough to put the pieces together for himself.

Sam's eyes darkened suddenly, realization showing clearly in his expression.

"You know, don't you?" he demanded. "You know what the demon meant, what it wants."

John didn't deny it.

"What does it want, Dad? Tell me!"

"Sam-"

"Tell me!" he shouted.

John drew another shaky breath, and finally gave up the secret he'd held onto for so long: "_You_, Sammy," he said quietly. "it wants _you_."

His son's jaw clenched, pain flaring in his eyes at the confirmation of something he'd already suspected.

"Why?"

_Why_ had been Sam's favorite word for as long as John could remember. _Why is the sky blue? Why don't I have a mommy? Why can't I go to soccer practice? Why can't we be normal? _There were always a thousand questions John was supposed to have the answer to. This time, he _did_ have the answer…and he wished more than anything that he didn't.

"It wants someone to lead its army, Sam."

Sam took a half-step back, as if he wanted to get away, like he was suddenly sure that he didn't want to know, but had to ask anyway.

"And the others like me?"

"It's gonna pit you against each other, winner takes all."

Sam's mouth opened to say something but closed just a quickly, struggling to accept what he'd just heard.

"So…I'm supposed to be some kind of demon general?" he asked at last.

"No, Sam," John said adamantly, the sudden defeat in his son's voice making the denial harsher than he'd meant for it to be, "that won't happen."

Sam gave a small, helpless laugh.

"Or what, you'll have to kill me?"

John didn't answer, and the small glimmer of desperate humor faded from Sam's eyes.

"You really _will_ have to kill me, won't you?"

"It won't come to that," John said immediately, praying it was true, "I won't let it."

"But what if it does?"

"It won't."

Sam shook his head quickly.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do, Sam," John insisted. He had to make Sam believe this, had to make _himself_ believe it. "You're stronger than this thing. You can beat it."

His son barked another laugh, this one bitter and sad and self-mocking.

"You mean like I beat it back in Salvation? Like I beat it back at the cabin?"

His son was giving up, John realized suddenly -- had already given up. Fear welled in John's heart, and he grabbed Sam's collar roughly, shaking him, desperate to make him see sense.

"I won't loose any more of this family, you hear me?! That demon has taken enough from us!"

Sam wouldn't look at him and John shook him again.

"Sam!"

When Sam's gaze finally met his own, John released his grip on Sam's collar, the pain and despair in his son's expression searing his heart.

"Then let me do this."

For a moment, John wasn't sure what he meant, but then he looked down, watching Sam's hands tighten around the box he held, the box that would allow him to trade his soul for his brother's life.

"I can't," John said softly. He looked up at his son again, his own eyes pleading…desperate, begging Sam to understand.

"But this will work!" Sam burst out, suddenly sounding impossibly young. "It will bring Dean back!"

"Demons don't... People can come back wrong, Sam," John stumbled over the explanation, hating to crush the hope Sam had. "Why do think I haven't…" his voice trailed off, but the unspoken words hung in the air: _Why do you think I haven't tried to bring your mother back? To bring Dean back?_

"This will work," Sam insisted again, "I know it." But he sounded less sure than before. "I have to try."

The now-familiar burn of tears stung John's eyes, but he shook his head. This was his last chance.

"Sammy, I would give anything to have him back. Anything. But not you. I can't loose you too, Sammy." John knew he had no right to ask this for himself, but it was all he had. "Please…please, don't do this."

"I have to," Sam said quietly.

"Sam-" he started desperately.

"This thing wanted me!" Sam exploded suddenly. "Me! And it killed Mom, and Jess, and…" The anger rushed out of him as quickly as it had come, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. "And it's my fault." Sam's whisper was harsh and full of pain. "It's my fault."

"Sammy…"

Tears spilled down his son's cheeks, and the box slipped from Sam's fingers, clattering to the ground. Without a thought, John wrapped his arms around his son, and Sam buried his head in his shoulder, like he had when he was a little boy. Broken sobs wracked his body, shaking them both, and John just held his son tightly, his own tears sliding down his neck and sinking into the collar of his shirt.

He didn't know how long they stayed that way, how long he held his son, but eventually, he pulled back slightly, his hand griping Sam's arm until Sam's tear-stained eyes met his own.

"You listen to me, Sammy. This isn't your fault. You hear me? It was that thing -- that thing did this."

Sam didn't say anything, but he gave a small, hesitant nod, like he wanted to believe it, even if he didn't now.

"Dean wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

Even as he said it, he realized that it was true, not just for Sam, but for him. John swallowed hard, and gave his son's shoulder another squeeze.

"Sam?"

Sam only nodded again but John felt a little of the weight lift from his heart. He'd lost one son, but he still had the other, and maybe, right now, that was all that mattered.

**TBC**

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A/N: Sam hadn't let himself really grieve for almost five days and neither had John in a way. They are finally grieving together, as father and son, and after all that, I think they're entitled to a break-down or two, lol. One more chapter after this one. :)

Thanks for reading! Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)


	5. Work To Do

Title: Into Ashes

Summary: "Come on, you can't…you can't leave me here, alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that." What if Dean had died before the deal could be made? What would John and Sam do without him? IMTOD AU.

Spoilers: In this chapter there are mentions of Crossroad Blues, Devil's Trap, In My Time Of Dying, and a brief reference to Everybody Love A Clown.

Disclaimer: Dean…he's still missing? Um…I plead the fifth.

A/N: THANK YOU so much to everyone who has reviewed, especially everyone who's reviewed every chapter. And thank you also to every one who's been reading. Of course, an incredible thank you to my beta, Darth Mom for all her priceless help, and to SophieSaulie for reading just about every draft there was and letting me bounce ideas off of her.

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and of course, please let me know what you think. :)

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**Into Ashes**

Sam stood next to an old stack of cars, squinting a little against the sunlight reflecting in the yard. He didn't know how long he'd been there, trying to order his thoughts, but he'd had to shift a little to stay in the shadows, so it was probably a while.

His dad was sitting in the same spot he'd found him in a couple days before, staring at the Impala. Sam wasn't sure if his dad hadn't noticed that he was watching him, or if he was just waiting for Sam to make the first move.

If he was, chances were he'd be waiting for a long time, because Sam didn't know what to do…or even what he was supposed to feel.

He was tired, tired far beyond the physical, wrung-out and spent in ways he couldn't begin to describe. Grief filled his heart, too, painful, sharp, and searing. But since that night at the crossroads…somehow, it was better. And that thought sent his mind reeling with guilt.

How could he feel any better? Dean was still gone.

He could have gotten him back.

_People come back wrong, Sam_…

Even then, it would have been better than nothing, better than facing every day without his brother.

Part of him wanted nothing more than to go through with the deal his dad had stopped him from making. He could sneak out, leave and summon the demon before his dad even knew he was gone.

But one thought held him where he was, the same thought that his father's words had sent tearing through his mind at the crossroads:

What if it had been him?

What if he had died, and Dean had been left behind? He knew without a doubt that Dean would have made the deal in a heartbeat.

And Sam would never have been able to live with it.

Could he do that to Dean?

Dean had never asked for anything, had given up everything -- even his life, Sam thought, swallowing hard -- for his family.

Sam knew in his heart that if their positions were reversed, Dean's reasons for making the deal wouldn't have been selfish, just like Sam wasn't trying to be selfish by wanting Dean back now.

He just loved his brother.

But maybe…that was why he had to let him go.

It hurt, hurt so baldy that for a moment Sam couldn't breathe. But he couldn't deny it either. It was all too much, too much pain, too many revelations, too many tangled feelings.

How was he supposed to let Dean go?

Dean had _always_ been there.

Sam remembered how he'd resented that once, resented Dean for not seeing that he didn't have to take care of him anymore. Sam could take care of himself. But right now he didn't feel like _Sam_, he felt like _Sammy_, and he needed his big brother.

"_I can't do this alone."_

"_Yes, you can."_

"_Yeah, well, I don't want to."_

But…he wasn't alone, a voice in his mind whispered, not completely. His dad was still there.

As a kid, his dad had always seemed larger-than-life, a hero, but as Sam had gotten older, he'd started to see all the flaws, the mistakes, the way he didn't seem to care about anything but the hunt…and pretty soon, when Sam looked at his dad, that was all he'd been able to see.

But at the crossroads he hadn't been Dad the Hero, or Dad the Hunter, he'd just been _Dad_, and Sam wasn't sure what to do with that.

Not that he'd ever really known how to deal with those other _Dads_ either.

Dean had always been the one who seemed to understand their dad in ways Sam never could, the one who'd known the mysterious code their father used to communicate. Sam had told that to Dean once, after a big argument with their dad. He'd been trying to figure out why they fought so much and he'd come up with a pretty simple answer: they didn't speak the same language.

"_Sure, you do," _Dean had answered, _"It's called 'Yelling.'"_

How was he supposed to talk to their dad without Dean there to translate?

Sam took an unsteady breath.

They were all that was left, the sole, surviving Winchesters.

Somehow, two felt so much smaller than three.

But, maybe, it would be enough.

Forcing himself from the shadows, Sam made his way out into the yard. He moved quietly and sat next to his dad, feeling the car dip under his weight.

His dad didn't react, just kept staring at the Impala like it held the answer to everything. Did he think Sam was still angry? Or was he just as unsure as Sam was about where to go next?

Sam shifted uneasily on the hood, studying his dad's profile. He couldn't help grimacing a little at the dark, vivid bruise covering the side of his father's face. His own bruised cheek gave a dull throb and Sam felt a faint smile form on his lips. Maybe Dean had been right. Maybe they were more alike than either of them wanted to admit.

Sam had followed his dad's gaze back to the Impala, wondering what to do next, when he heard himself speak.

"Car's pretty messed up."

His dad glanced at him uncertainly, but a moment later he nodded.

"Yeah, she is."

Sam didn't answer right away, suddenly not sure what he was trying to say, but hoping his dad would understand somehow.

"Think we could fix her?"

His dad looked at him again, studying him more intently.

"I don't know," he said at last. "She's pretty wrecked. But, we could try."

Sam swallowed hard.

"Dean would want us to."

"Yeah," John agreed quietly. "Yeah, he would."

They sat there for a long time, not speaking, somehow not needing to, and Sam felt a little of the pain lessen. It wasn't the same, but the Impala was at least something tangible, something that was Dean's. And being here with his dad, somehow, it helped.

"I'll go ask Bobby what tools he's got."

His dad's voice startled him from his thoughts, and Sam nodded, watching as his dad slid from the car and headed in the direction of the house.

Without really knowing why, Sam pushed himself to his feet, stepping closer to the Impala. He walked around the car, forcing himself not to focus on the damage from the semi. He paused as he reached the back, running his hand over the trunk.

He glanced in the review mirror and froze.

Dean's reflection looked back at him, smiling…

Sam blinked and it was gone.

Shock, hope and disbelief rose up in him, but when they faded, a sort of peace remained.

Things weren't okay, they might never be. Dean was still gone and Sam would never stop missing him.

But it was a start.

Sam turned, moving to follow his dad.

They had a lot of work to do.

**Fin**

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A/N: I tried, but I couldn't resist at least one Dean-ghost moment, lol. He's not exactly haunting them or the Impala, just…checking up on them, lol. :) And I know that not everything was resolved between John and Sam…but I don't really think it could be all in one fic. It will take them a while, but they'll be okay. And I wanted to end on a hopeful note. :)

Again, thank you so much for reading. I might someday write a sequel or an alternate ending to this (I have a few plot bunnies bouncing around in my mind for it) but for now, this is the end. I hope you will check out some of my other Supernatural fics, especially "Moments of Silence," (a John POV) and its companion piece, (a Dean POV) "All That Matters." They are also IMTOD AU fics. :)

Take care and God bless!

Ani-maniac494 :)


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